A Lesson in Romantics
by darlingsybil
Summary: There were many things that Sybil Crawley knew she was going to do during her last year at Cambridge. She didn't expect her professor to be one of them.
1. The Parisian Stranger

"Let me get this straight. A month ago, you break up with Larry. A week ago, you travel to Paris for Mary's fashion launch and you end up sleeping with some Irishman. Sybil Crawley, you slut."

Sybil rolled her eyes, shaking her head at Thomas. "It wasn't like that at all," she exclaimed but her friend wasn't listening.

"Remind me the next time you go to Paris to come along."

"Why? So, you can be my protector?" Sybil raised an eyebrow.

"Fuck no. I want my own Irishman. Or Frenchman, whatever."

Sybil put down her book on the grass and stretched her legs out, soaking in the sunlight. "I thought you were going for that guy? What's his name? Jimmy."

Thomas pulled the cigarette from his lips, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "Apparently, he's not gay."

"Didn't I tell you that?"

"Well, he's not gay _yet_." He crushed his stick into the grass. "So, tell me, the Irishman. What was he like? How lucky _did_ you get? How big was his leprechaun?"

"Thomas!" Sybil said, standing up and dusting the dirt from her jeans. "This is why I don't tell you things."

He stood up as well, pulling his sunglasses off as they began walking through the courtyard. "I know. You tell Gwen things and then she tells me. It's really not fair, Syb, I mean – "

"So, tell me about Jimmy again. What's your plan to bring out the gay in him?" Sybil interrupted and thankfully for her, Thomas took the bait, going into the details about his love life rather than hers. Admittedly, she could barely pay attention as her mind drifted to Paris.

* * *

_Even though, she had been to Paris a couple of times before, this had to be first that that she gotten lost. The streets looked the same around every turn with French signs mocking her for not paying enough attention during school. Thunder roared through the night sky, and it took her less than a second to decide to find shelter in the nearest pub rather than continue her unsuccessful search for the hotel._

_The neon sign of Rick's barely illuminated and had it not been for the group of people entering, she would have thought the establishment to be closed. When she entered, a shrill bell rang from the top of the door and quickly, she made her way to the counter._

"_Pardon, monsieur," she said, waving her hand at the bartender. "Um, parlez-vous anglais?" she managed to say, yet there was no doubt in her mind that her English accent butchered the sentence._

_The bartender snarled and continued staring at her as though she had another head._

"_Monseiur, je – fuck, I forgot the word." She took her phone out of her purse but no matter how many times she glared at it, it was still battery dead. "This is not my night."_

"_You having trouble, love?" _

_Sybil's head snapped up and she found that the voice belonged to a man sitting two seats away from her. _

"_Phone's dead," she said, holding it up. "It's been a crazy night."_

_He pushed his glass aside and shifted closer, allowing her to see whom she was talking to. With his disheveled light brown hair and his blue eyes, she was suddenly aware that she probably looked like a mess from the rain, but it was the weary smile he gave her that seemed to draw her in. The accent was also a bonus._

"_You can use mine if you want," he offered, but she shook her head. _

"_I don't actually know my sister's number, so that wouldn't help."_

"_You're English?" _

_Sybil nodded. "And you're Irish."_

"_You should be a detective," he said with a chuckle. He brought his glass to his lips, finishing off the last of his drink and setting the now empty glass on the table. Looking over at her, he paused as though he were about thinking about what to say until finally, he asked, "Can I at least buy you a drink, then?"_

_Sybil bit her lip. Granted, she had broken up with Larry a few weeks ago and even though, the stranger was appealing, she felt that she should know better. Still, there was a part of her that was definitely already attracted to him and it was after all, her last night in Paris._

"_How about," she paused, a smirk growing on her lips. "I buy us a drink?" _

_The stranger raised his eyebrows, grinning as he folded his arms across his chest. "If you insist," he said, motioning towards the counter. "I like a woman who's assertive. Do I get a name at least?"_

"_We'll see," she replied smugly. She turned her head to the bartender and tried once more to get a response from him, "Monsieur, je—dammit, do you speak French?"_

_The stranger gave a hearty laugh, shaking his head. "God, no. I found that it works best if you just slide the money across the counter." _

_Following his advice, Sybil took a note from her purse and pushed it towards the bartender. Immediately, he picked it up and tucked it into his shirt pocket before pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses from below the counter and setting it in front of them._

"_It works, but you never know what you're going to get," the stranger said. "In the last hour, he's given me a beer and a cocktail when all I wanted was to use the toilet."_

_Sybil poured the red wine into the glasses, handing one to the man. _

"_You know, I'm going to have to call you something if we're going to finish this bottle," he said, when they clinked glasses. _

_Sybil took a sip from her glass, the wine tingling her mouth. "Well, what do I look like?"_

_He set his glass down and looked at her. To her surprise, his eyes stayed firm on her face rather than travelling downward like most men did._

"_I'll call you 'kid'," he said, as though proud of her new nickname._

"_I'm not a child," Sybil huffed. _

_The stranger waved his hands. "Don't you get it? 'Kid' like from Casablanca? 'Here's looking at you, kid.' Come on, you're in Rick's."_

"_I've never seen it."_

"_You're kidding, right? It's Bogie at his finest."_

_Sybil chuckled. "You're a Humphrey Bogart fan? I did not expect that."_

"_My Ma was. She used to watch his films all the time with my older sisters. Can't say, I wasn't forced to join them." He offered her a smile._

"_Well, then" Sybil said, "It seems I've found a name for you, _Bogie_."_

"_Alright," he leaned in towards her, "then I'm just going to have to call you Bacall."_

_When Sybil took another sip from her wine glass, trying to hide her growing smile, she realised that maybe her last night wasn't going to be a total disaster._

* * *

"You excited?"

Tom looked at his friend over the crowd of students gathered in the hallway. "Not really," he replied.

"Because they're English?" Matthew said, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I haven't taught before." It was true, though. Despite how much Tom had wanted to be a professor, he couldn't deny the jitters in his stomach. He had been incredibly lucky when Matthew had called him up, asking if he had left Paris to go back home to Ireland. With Professor Calhoun tending to his broken hip, the Political Science class was in need for a teacher and naturally, Matthew had thought of his old friend.

At first, the head of the department had been weary of giving the class to Tom as he only recently had been given his doctorate, but after two days constantly sending references, exchanging emails and conversing over the phone, the old man gave in. It was a blessing for Tom to receive the teaching job especially since his previous searches had come up empty-handed and it was the chance he needed to finally start his new life, one hopefully without drama.

"It won't be that bad. They're just students. They won't bite," Matthew said with a grin as they managed to push through the crowd. "I remember my first day teaching here. I was so anxious I nearly vomited in my car."

Tom made a face. "You drove me here! Remind me never to sit in your car again."

"I said 'nearly' and besides, when I actually had the class, I realised that they were harmless and I had been foolish. Listen; what you need is for them to talk. It's a third-year political science class, so it'll be easy. Everyone's bound to have their own opinions. You'll probably need more help actually shutting them up."

Tom ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly aware of his moist palms. It wasn't like him to be nervous. Usually he was brash and enthusiastic, especially when it came to politics but whether it was his lack of sleep or his general awe of Cambridge, there was something troubling on his mind. He had gone over the lesson plans twice already since that morning and even though, it was only the first day of term, he knew he would have to make an outstanding first impression if he ever wanted to go from assistant professor to full tenure.

When Matthew dropped him off at his classroom, all Tom could think of was 'God help me' before he entered.

* * *

"I cannot believe you told Thomas," Sybil said when she took as seat next to Gwen. The red-haired woman simply shrugged her shoulders, continuing texting on her phone.

"He got it out of me."

"And how exactly did he do that?"

Gwen grinned and showed her screen to Sybil. "He gave me Jon's number."

"That bastard."

"Hey, just because he's got a dysfunctional family, it—"

Sybil shook her head. "I was talking about Thomas."

"Oh," Gwen grew silent. "Yeah, he is one, but the man does have connections. You would've told him though … right?" Gwen said cautiously, hoping that she hadn't upset Sybil.

Deliberately, Sybil took her time to reply, glaring at her friend until finally, she nodded with her lips curling, "Of course, I would've."

"So, I did save you the trouble when you think about it?"

"You're not getting out of this one that easily, Dawson," Sybil said, wagging her finger. "I want details about Jon and then I may forgive you."

Gwen feigned shock, her mouth wide as she put her hand to her heart. "Give me details first about your French rendezvous."

"I told you. Nothing happened," Sybil said.

"Shut it, Crawley. I want details first – oh, shit, Sybil, don't look." Gwen's eyes were glued on the doorway and despite her friend's warning, Sybil immediately turned her head, already anticipating who was there. She had thought Thomas had been joking when he said that Larry would be auditing her class, but sure enough, the future politician made his entrance with a dirty glare in her direction.

"What a dick," Gwen whispered, while he took a seat on the opposite side of the room. "It's a good thing you broke up with him."

"Oh God, this isn't going to be fun," Sybil said, trying to hide her face.

Gwen leaned over so that Sybil's view of Larry was blocked. "Don't worry, you have me in this class and if he tries something, I'll set his greasy hair on fire and we'll have a bonfire."

"What would I do without you?" Sybil replied fondly, bringing Gwen into a tight hug. For all the years that they had known each other, Gwen had always been a constant support through all their dramas, acting more of a sister than Mary and Edith had ever been.

"Can I get a hug as well? I think I'll need one for my first day here," a voice said from the front of the class. The girls broke apart, facing the figure standing by the whiteboard and Sybil's jaw dropped, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' when her gaze met the shocked eyes of her new assistant professor, who was none other than her Parisian stranger.

* * *

_It couldn't be_, Tom thought to himself, staring at her with wide eyes but sure enough, out of all the classrooms in all the universities in all the world, she was sitting in his.

Any thoughts of first impressions disappeared from his head when only one word left his mouth.

"Fuck."

* * *

AN: I know, I know. Another fic when I've got many to write but this one will be fun, I promise. Many many thanks to my beta **scarletcourt** for being a doll and I'm very interested to know what you guys think so far. Also, I have no clue about English universities, I'm getting all my information from the internet so sorry if there's any inaccuracies. Night y'all!


	2. Moments of Truth

"What?" Larry said loudly, unsure like the rest of the class whether they had just heard their professor swear. Gwen sniggered and Sybil lowered her head, trying to hide her face with her hand.

Tom shuffled forward, his eyes still on Sybil and cursed once more when his knee banged into the desk.

"Bloody fuck," Tom said, much to the amusement of the class. "I mean, uh - fuck. This isn't going right." He massaged his temples, trying to clear his head.

_They're just students._ They were looking at him with curious eyes, waiting for him to make his next move. _Just students. They won't bite._

"I'm Irish." he chuckled. "So, you guys will probably hear me swear more than a fucking sailor."

The class laughed and he felt the lump in his throat disappear.

"Who are you?" Larry snarled. Ever since he had entered the room, Larry had noticed that the Irishman had his eyes glued to Sybil and that was enough for him to automatically dislike him.

Tom shifted, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, Professor Calhoun has broken his hip so he won't be able to teach this term. That's why I'm the lucky bastard who gets his class. My name's Tom Branson. I've just recently gotten my doctorate in political science, so please be nice. Since this is our first class and I've told you all a bit about myself, why don't you tell me your names and why you think this class will help you in your career." Looking directly at Larry, Tom added, "You can start."

Larry cleared his throat, having been chosen first before replying with a bored drawl, "Larry Grey. You would have heard of my father, Lord Merton, and so naturally I'll take his seat at the House of Lords when he's done."

"You must be proud then that your family were one of the ninety two Peers that still follow hereditary rules when it comes to the House of Lords," Tom said. "Especially since the House abolished that rule for eighty nine of the Peers ten years ago."

With his jaw square, Larry said in a low growl, "Actually, we weren't."

"Ah, well, that's politics for you. You win some, you lose some. To be honest, I'm a bit of a socialist. Not the crazy kind, but I don't believe in the aristocracy. After all, they're just fancy words added to a name."

Murmurs rippled through the class since it was common knowledge of Larry's reputation of being the 'big man on campus' – not for his attitude, but purely for his family name. No one dared speak ill of the Grey's and even Sybil lifted her head up, startled by the confrontation between the two men but also by Tom's opinions.

"My family has always held a place in the House of Lords," Larry said icily, glaring at Tom. "That's how _English _parliament is run. On fine pedigree and tradition. After all, we're not the type for riots and uprisings."

If Larry Grey weren't a student in his glass, there was no doubt in Tom's mind that he would've punched him in the face by now. Instead, Tom curled his fist, glaring at the dark-haired man. He was about to reply, trying to keep the profanities from reaching his tongue when a voice from the other side of the room spoke up, "My name is Sybil."

* * *

_Two hours and three empty bottles later, 'Bogie' and 'Bacall' found themselves stumbling through the hallway of Tom's hotel, hands entwined and laughter filling the air. _

_When they reached Tom's door, he hesitated before opening his door, turning to her with an anxious expression, "Are you sure?"_

_She answered by placing her lips on his and when they broke apart, both gasping for air, she said, "Definitely."_

_They entered the room – thankfully cleaned by room service – and suddenly, it became aware to the both of them what was about to happen. Sybil moved towards the bed, sitting down on the springy mattress, biting her lip as she watched Tom fumble near the door._

"_Maybe I should ask are _you_ sure?" she said, leaning back on her hands and tilting her head. He nodded and crossed the floor to her, cupping her cheeks with his fingers before kissing her passionately. He wasn't sure if it was the wine streaming through his veins but the kiss left him lightheaded and dizzy, his thoughts a scramble, knowing that that he was completely captivated by her. _

_Their kisses started chaste, just as they had been outside of the bar when neither had been adamant to leave the other. He followed her when she moved further up the bed, his body over hers when she ran her fingers through his hair. She was different to any other women he had ever kissed. With her, he wanted to take his time, exploring her body with his trembling hands. Granted, it had been awhile since he had been with a woman, there was a nausea through his body but when he looked at her, the young woman in his bed whom he only knew as 'Bacall', there was something in him telling him that this felt right._

* * *

"Sybil?" Tom said carefully, as though her name was a delicate gift. Already, Larry Grey had slipped from his mind.

She nodded, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Sybil Crawley. I'm hoping that this class will help me have a better understanding of politics especially since I want to be a politician in the future."

Tom's lips curled. "That's a fine ambition."

"Ambition or dream?" Sybil replied. He moved closer to her, sitting on an empty desk so that he was facing her direction.

"Definitely ambition. We need more women politicians making a stand," he said genuinely. She felt her cheeks grow red when their eyes locked and for a split second, it felt like they were back in Rick's, just them two alone until a student from the back of the room began coughing and their gaze broke.

"Uh, who wants to go next?" Tom rubbed the back of his neck and turning towards the students.

The next hour went by without any trouble and Tom found himself settling into a rhythm with the class. National politics was this week's topic and he found himself immersed in the student's opinions that when time came for the class to end, he had hardly gone through half of the course outline.

"Er, so, we'll finish this up next week really quickly but I guess for now, just do the readings and maybe next week, you won't hear any swearing from me," Tom said, shuffling the papers on his desk while the students left the room. He kept one eye on Sybil, though, watching her talk to Gwen. He sensed that she noticed when she tried to return his gaze but to both their surprise, Larry approached her, blocking Tom's view.

"Sybil," Larry said, enunciating her name, "we should talk."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "God, Larry. Hello to you, too."

"This doesn't concern you, Gwen. It's between Sybil and I," Larry retorted.

"Listen, can we do this later, Larry?" Sybil said, shaking her head. She could see Tom at his desk, his attention focused on their small group.

Larry, however, was having none of it. "You break up with me for no good reason— "

"Maybe, it's cause you're an arse," Gwen muttered under her breath.

"And when I want to talk about it, you blow me off. Who's being the child now?" Sybil tensed when he grabbed her arm, controlled fury in his dark eyes and when she hitched her breath, Tom's voice interrupted from the other side of the room, "If you guys were really that keen to stay and keep me company, I don't mind if you'd clean the whiteboard."

Larry let go of Sybil with a grunt and stormed out of the room, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor.

"Christ, what's his problem?" Gwen said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I know I've said before but seriously, Sybil, thank God you broke up with him."

Sybil feigned a smile, walking with Gwen to the front of the room. She caught Tom's concerned gaze and stopped before they exited. "Actually, Gwen," Sybil said, hitting her head lightly, "I'm such an idiot. I was hoping to talk to Tom about something in the readings this week. I know you've got class so you don't have to wait or anything. I'm going to Downton after this anyway."

"It's the first week, Sybil," Gwen said disbelievingly, "You're seriously telling me you did this week's readings?"

"Well, the train ride back here was long …"

"Sybil, I knew you said no distractions this term, but even you have to admit that's a bit sad," Gwen said, heading outside the room. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

With Gwen gone, it was just Tom and Sybil left in the room. Tom stopped pretending that he was fixing his desk and leaned against the whiteboard when Sybil turned to face him, unsure where to start.

"Sybil," he said, "I would have never have guessed that to be your name."

She stepped towards him. "Is there a problem with it?"

"No. Actually, it suits you."

Sybil nodded, shrugging her shoulders while she put down her books on his desk. "Tom Branson," she said, the words falling off her tongue, "I didn't expect you to be my professor."

"Well, I certainly didn't expect you to be gone in the morning," Tom replied, raising his eyebrows. "Especially without any note or anything. Not that I was heartbroken. I'm a big boy."

"It was a lot of wine. To be honest, I didn't think you'd even remember me."

Tom leaned forward and said softly, "I could never forget you, kid."

"That again?" she said, her lips twitching in amusement. "I thought I told you I wasn't a child."

"I know you're not. I'm going to have to get you to watch the film." As soon as the words left his mouth, he cringed, suddenly remembering the predicament they were in. "I mean, I'll give you it not that you have to watch it with me, uh—" He fell silent. "Maybe it was a good thing nothing happened."

"Something happened …" Sybil said, remembering the feeling of his lips against hers.

"I mean, it's a good thing, we didn't go _further_," Tom clarified. "If I remember correctly, you had just come out of a relationship and I—well, I've just got a whole lot of baggage."

"About that. I'm sorry for Larry today. He was a dickhead," Sybil said. Even though, he was no longer her boyfriend, she still felt partly responsible for Larry's cruel behaviour earlier.

"It wasn't your fault. Besides, I've heard a lot worse about Irel—wait, he's your ex?"

When Sybil nodded, Tom felt his blood boil, an unexplainable anger rising in his body as he remembered what he had witnessed between them minutes ago. "You actually dated _him_?"

"We've got history," she said, but the stern tone in her voice was enough for him to realise that the topic was now closed.

"Ah, Tom, I didn't think I'd be able to catch you after your class," Matthew's voice interrupted. He entered the room with his briefcase in his hand and whether it was a figment of his imagination, he could've sworn that they two seem flustered as they shifted uncomfortably. "Oh Sybil, what you'd think of your first class with Tom?"

"You know him?" Sybil mumbled, glancing from Matthew to Tom.

Matthew grinned proudly. "Of course, I do. I helped him get the job here."

The realization hit Tom and he gasped suddenly, much to the surprise of Matthew and Sybil. "Wait, Crawley?" he exclaimed. She said her name had been 'Sybil Crawley' but only now had he discovered why the name had jogged his memory earlier. "Don't tell me you two are related?"

"She's my sister-in-law," Matthew explained as though it were common knowledge. He turned to Sybil, "We should head off if we want to make in time for dinner. I wouldn't want Violet to throw a fit."

Sybil chuckled while she moved next to Matthew. "Granny can be particular."

"Tom, how about we catch up when I come back from Paris? Or if you want, come join us for dinner? It's meant to double as my going away party as well and you can tell me about what you've been up to. I'm sure no one will mind, right Sybil?" Matthew offered, nudging Sybil with his shoulder. She looked at Tom, her eyes wide.

"Uh, maybe some other time. You should spend time with your family," Tom said. Admittedly, there was a part of him itching to have said 'yes' but this day had been a headache enough and he was desperate to go back to his apartment and sleep.

"Well then, au revoir," Matthew said, giving his friend a quick hug.

"Don't forget to send me a postcard from the Sorbonne," Tom joked, waving as Matthew began to leave the room with Sybil following him. She stopped at the doorway, looking at him cautiously. "What happens in Paris …"

"Stays in Paris," he finished off. He watched as she lowered her head, nodding gently before she gave him one last smile and then disappearing down the hallway.

Finally alone in the classroom, Tom let out an overdue sigh. _God, I need whiskey._

* * *

_When he woke up the next morning, his head was pounding and the smell of alcohol was heavy on the pillow. He opened his eyes, expecting to see a young woman beside him but to his surprise, he was alone. _

_He sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes with the back of his hand._

"_Hello?" he said groggily, yet came no reply. _

_It was a good thing, he supposed, that he hadn't had a condom with him last night. They had been close – incredibly close – but neither of them had wanted to risk it without protection. Instead, the other side effect of wine had taken over them and they had fallen asleep, hands and legs entwined._

"_God," Tom grumbled. He reached over for his wallet on the bedside table and fumbled through it until he found an object he hadn't worn in so long – a gold ring._

* * *

AN: Hope you guys are enjoying as this story unfolds! More is definitely on its way and I'd love to hear all your thoughts! As always, much thanks to my beta **scarletcourt** who I would be lost without. Night y'all


	3. A Little Cafe of White

Dinner was eventful as always.

No sooner had it started, Violet had already berated Edith for continuing her relationship with Sir Anthony Strallan – "There's less of an age difference between him and I then there is between you two" – insulted Cora's new décor at Downton – "I feel like I'm in a Picasso painting and not the good kind" – and questioned Isobel's decision to return to the hospital – "At this late in the game? Things have changed since World War One, my dear Mrs. Crawley."

Naturally, Sybil would have been smirking at her grandmother's display and been thankful that she wasn't this week's target but instead, she found herself thinking of one person – Tom Branson. _Tom_. It was odd for her to realise that she finally knew his name especially since they tried so hard in Paris to keep their identities hidden. Although, she was curious to see how he'd react if she 'accidently' called him Bogie in class.

Ever since she had discovered he was her professor, she knew that she'd have to push aside everything that had happened in Paris and maintain the teacher-student relationship with him. This, however, seemed easier said than done since she had the strongest urge to find out more about him. She had meant to ask Matthew on the trip to Downton, but he had been so excited rambling about the Sorbonne that she had completely forgotten until now.

"Sybil – Sybil dear, are you listening?"

"What?" Sybil exclaimed, shaking out of her reverie to find her family staring at her.

"I asked how your first day back at school was," Cora said, concerned about her daughter's silence.

"Oh, it was fine," Sybil said quickly. "Just one more year and then I'll be done."

"And we're very proud of that," Robert said. He raised his glass at her and beamed. "I remember when you were a little girl and you wanted to be a ballerina."

"Now she wants to be the next British Prime Minister," Edith joked.

"Well," Violet began and Sybil was bracing herself for an insult, but instead her grandmother's lips curled. "It's only a matter of time."

* * *

Even though he had been at Cambridge for a couple of days, Tom still managed to become lost. Granted, the university was made up of various colleges scattered throughout, he cursed himself for choosing an apartment near one of the largest – St John's.

He wondered through one of the courtyards, the morning sun starting to rise, and he felt his stomach grumble as he tried to remembered where the Dining Hall was. There were barely any people out, as he expected, and he dug his hands into his pockets, trying to keep them warm. It still surprised him that he was _finally_ teaching at a university and even though he had Matthew to thank, he knew that this was finally the break that he needed.

"Fuck it," he declared when he walked past the same building for the third time and when he weaved through the hallways and the grass patches, he hurriedly entered the first café he saw.

Just as the school grounds had been partially empty, so was the White House Cafe and he quickly ordered himself a mushroom omelet and plain espresso – far too early for an Irish coffee and the Moroccan brands the café seemed to specialize in – and grabbed a seat by the window overlooking the River Cam. Whilst he waited for his coffee to arrive, he looked around the place, trying not to seem like an Irishman caught in headlights. The café's outside décor lived up to its name, but the inside was a great contradiction and an eyesore with all the walls painted a different colour. The wall he leaned against was a dull black and to his discomfort, he noticed that most of the staff seemed to be looking in his direction.

Trying to avoid them, he glanced out of the window and found the rowing team already training in the cold weather.

"Crazy bastards," he murmured, grateful that he was inside.

"Excuse me?"

He looked up and found the waiter with an awkward expression as he placed Tom's beverage and food on the table.

"Oh—" Tom mumbled, "I meant them outside not you guys."

The waiter nodded his head slowly and when he began to walk away, he called out, "You have a good day, okay? Just take a deep breath and relax" before returning to the counter.

Tom scrunched his face. _What?_

Shaking off his confused thoughts, he began to eat his breakfast whilst going over the day's lesson plan. He was halfway through recapping the Russian government when he heard _her_.

Instantly, he raised his head and found Sybil leaning against the counter, talking to the barista. She was dressed in yesterday's clothes with her hair in a loose bun but Tom noted that her smile never left her face. It was a mesmerizing sight especially when everyone else in the café looked like zombies.

When her coffee was ready and she was about to head out, her head turned as though she finally realised he was watching and she stopped at the doorway. She gave him a soft wave and he did the same, although he was certain the goofy grin on his face made him look more embarrassing.

She bit her lip, contemplating what to do and just as he thought she was about to leave by the way her hand was gripping onto the door, she walked over to him with a shy smile.

"Hello. You're up awfully early," she said, standing next to his table.

"I'm an early bird."

She glimpsed at his empty plate. "And that must've been your worm."

"Thank god, it didn't taste like one," he replied, proud to have made her chuckle.

_She's your student, Tom. Remember, _your _student._

"Why are you up so early?" he said, glancing at his watch to find it was barely past seven.

"I just got back from Downton. I thought I'd get some coffee before I head back to my dorm. Unfortunately, the coffee there does taste like worms," Sybil replied. _Students and professors can be friends_, she thought to herself as she eyed the empty chair opposite him. _Of course, they can_.

He noticed her gaze as well and stuck his hand out "If you want to sit," he said, his voice a touch hesitant but when she did, he was secretly pleased. "So Downton. Matthew's told me a bit about it. I should've known I'd have the daughter of an English earl in my first class."

"Ah yes, your dislike for the British aristocracy," she said with a grin. "I was certain that Larry was going to have a fit in class yesterday."

"He'll definitely make this class interesting, won't he?"

Sybil tried to suppress her smile as she nodded. "Don't worry, I'll make sure I go easy on you."

"Will you now?"

"That's not what I meant," Sybil gasped when he smirked, but she could feel her cheeks flush at the thought.

_This is your conscience, Tom Branson, and I'm telling you, she's a student, so quit flirting! _

"I'm just teasing," Tom said, chuckling. "But, uh—I'll admit, it's good seeing a familiar face in the classroom."

"Really, now?"

Tom shifted in his seat. "Yeah, I mean. It's a bit daunting having my first real class and one that's about modern political theory but it's practically a dream come true."

"You mean ambition come true," she replied.

"Right. Ambition."

She smiled at him and he was certain his conscience had definitely abandoned him when he felt tingles creeping in his stomach.

"So, Matthew's gone—"

"How long have you—"

They both paused at exactly the same time, snickering at each other's failed attempts at continuing the conversation.

Tom cleared his throat. "You were saying?"

"Um, I guess, how long have you known Matthew?" Sybil asked, sipping at her coffee. "You two seem close and I forgot to ask him last night."

"You were thinking about me last night?" Tom said, raising his eyebrows. _Jesus Christ, you're going to hell, Tom._

Sybil blushed. "No. Of course not. I mean, I was just curious. It seemed like you two have known each other for a long time."

"Well, we met at Manchester. I did a year there as part of my degree and Matthew was the first person I met. I would've been lost without him. Although, I'll never forgive him for making me play cricket, I've got a reputation to uphold."

"Oh, don't mention the word 'cricket'. My father and Matthew are obsessed with the sport. You should see them when they play the village. I don't know whether it's hysterical or absolute hell."

"I can imagine," Tom replied, thinking back to all the cricket matches when the usually calm lawyer would go psycho at the opposing team.

"Do you play any sport?"

Tom shrugged. "Not really. I played a bit of rugby back home but that was a while ago."

"You better not tell anyone here that or else they'll make you play at the 'Bring It' match," Sybil said, trying to keep away the creeping thought of Tom in shorts.

"The what?"

"The 'Bring It' match. It's this tradition here during the second week back where students verse the faculty in a rugby match," she explained. "Usually it's just for laughs and a way to get us all just back into the school spirit but I warn you, some of the old professors get especially competitive."

"I'll do my best then to not be part of it," Tom asserted. "Although, I suppose they would probably need all the _young _professors they could get."

Sybil chuckled at him. "Yeah, shame they won't be asking you then. What are you? At least fifty right?"

"Fifty two, to be precise," Tom replied.

"I knew it," Sybil gasped, trying to hold a serious face only to dissolve into giggles.

"Just thinking back about my school days with Matthew is making me feel like I am fifty, though. It was such a long time ago," Tom shared. "God, I was pretty wild back then. Young and naïve and thinking I could change the world."

Sybil tilted her head, resting her chin on top of her hand. "What happened?"

"Life, I suppose," Tom said. "I mean, it's great to have beliefs and conviction to live by and I do try to stick by mine to the best that I can but if anything, I've had to learn to think before I act."

"It sounds like there's something you're not telling me," Sybil said, eyeing him curiously.

"Let's just say," Tom said, "it's a good thing you didn't know me back when I was in university."

Sybil nodded, feeling that would be all on the subject. She peered over at Tom's watch and found that they had been talking for longer than she had expected.

"Shit, is that the time?" she said. "I've got a class in an hour and was hoping to change."

"Apologies then," Tom said. "It's alright, go on then. I won't get depressed or heartbroken or anything."

Sybil rolled her eyes as she stood up. "It was good chatting. Who knows. I'm usually here in the mornings so …" she paused, hoping he would get the hint without her sounding too forward.

"Well," he began, "in that case. I'm definitely finding a new café."

"Hey!"

Tom smiled. "It was a good chat."

Just as Sybil was about to leave, she turned to him, "Oh, and make sure the next time you come here, you sit by the yellow wall or at least at the white tables by the counter."

"Why?"

"I'm guessing you didn't read the sign at the counter," Sybil assumed. "Well, there are different walls here for people feeling different things. If you're in a happy mood, you sit by the yellow wall, sad or stressed then by the blue wall so the baristas know to give you an extra piece of cake or something to cheer you up. The black wall basically means 'stay the fuck away from me'."

"No wonder," Tom exclaimed. "Well, what if there's just nowhere to sit? And I have to sit here?"

"Tell the barista that and then maybe they won't be afraid of an outburst when they bring you your coffee," Sybil said. "Trust me, I've had my experience with that."

She waved him at him when she left the café. He watched her walk toward the riverside and took her shoes off, walking through the grass back to the campus.

He sighed.

_Fuck, Tom. No, just fucking no._

He eyed his waiter at the counter, staring at him with a cheerful smile as he had watched Tom and Sybil's entire encounter.

All he got in return was a scowl from Tom.

* * *

AN: Once again, a big thank you to scarletcourt for putting up with me and being an amazing beta! This chapter is dedicated to elleisforlovee for all the help she has given me and for being a dear! So, I wonder if anyone can pick up the subtle Casablanca references in the chapter? Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter and let me know what you guys think!


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